Chapter 17
Riella felt impossibly calm in the face of Ferrante’s prediction.
She stood, returning the map to her bustier. “Well, thank you. I am glad to be forewarned.”
Ferrante gave her a solemn nod.
She hastened to the turquoise water, Jarin closely following.
“Riella—” he started, reaching for her elbow.
But she did not wish for more words—especially not from a human. The siren dove under the crystalline water and swam to the other side. Those peaceful few moments underwater were a respite from reality.
Then, she surfaced, and her situation hit her in the face like the harsh sun.
Riella would die at the next full moon, less than two weeks away. The fate foretold was hers, no doubt. She was the only siren-who-walked.
And someone would wield the amulet. But who? Since Ferrante did not specify, perhaps that part of the prophecy was not set in stone. She could find the amulet, and use it to defeat Polinth. That could be her fate.
Feeling strangely numb, she climbed from the water and sat on the edge of the sandstone bank while Jarin swam after her.
If she was to die, all she could do was make her final days count for as much as possible. Find the amulet. Save the elf. Kill Polinth.
Jarin surfaced, flicking his wet hair from his eyes, and looked for her.
“I didn’t realize that would be the message,” he said, swimming over to the siren.
“Of course, you didn’t,” she replied stiffly, her legs in the water. “How could you?”
He shook his head, his handsome face aggrieved. “Perhaps he’s wrong.”
“Is he often wrong?”
Jarin clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
The siren squeezed the water from her hair. “I only care about saving Seraphine now. And that’s fine, because what kind of life would I have had with legs, anyway? I’m a mutant.”
“You can’t—” He faltered.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t what?”
“You mustn’t give up on yourself. On your life.”
“I’m not! I didn’t ask for this.”
Before he could reply, she stood and went down the path toward the camp.
As she walked, Riella became hyperaware of everything. The way the fern leaves tickled her ankles as she brushed past them, the sun making dappled patterns on the jungle floor, the birdcall comprised of the same three notes over and over again. It suddenly all seemed painfully perfect and precious.
In a matter of days and nights, she would cease to be here, or anywhere. Washed away with the tide, Ferrante said. It would almost be as if she never existed at all.
Jarin jogged from behind her, falling into step with her. “But why can’t we use the amulet to save your life? Perhaps that’s why the Sea Witch revealed the map to you.”
“And go against the prophecy? I doubt the Sea Witch would allow it, or why would there be a prophecy at all?” Riella pushed a branch aside. “If I find the amulet, it’ll be to restore Seraphine. That’s my fate.”
The pirate sighed heavily. “There would be other ways to restore her. Polinth is not the only mage in the land. But you can’t save anyone if you’re dead.”
“And I will surely try not to die. But everyone does, sooner or later. I’m not exempt.” She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “You want to help? Get the Pandora seaworthy. Allow me to fulfill my mission.’
“I will,” he replied quietly. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll help you to fulfill it. I owe you, for waylaying you on this island in the first place.”
“I thought you owed me death?”
“Turns out I needn’t have bothered. Fate has it in for you, big time.”
He gave her a sidelong look, which she returned.
She shook her head. “You’re not funny.”
“Do you want to talk about?—”
“No.”
Riella feared that if she let down the barrier around her feelings, she’d never be able to put it back up. Jarin would see her at her most vulnerable, and she couldn’t allow that. She didn’t have time for feelings. She certainly didn’t have time to fall apart.
So, she swallowed hard, willing the gigantic, scary tidal wave of emotion building in her chest to dissolve.
“I must find a way to contact my friends,” she said, chewing her lip. “I’ll need their help to retrieve the amulet, because the undersea caves are too deep for us to reach alone.”
“How’re you going to contact them?”
“Sirens can Send to each other underwater. Talk through our minds. Over a long distance, we can Send only a general distress signal. That’s what I’ll have to try, because I don’t know where my friends are right now.”
Jarin spluttered. “You can read each other’s minds? Gods. That explains a lot.”
“Only underwater,” she clarified. “And the greater the distance, the more difficult it is. Near an island as big as this one, it’ll be hard for the Sending to travel through the water undisturbed.”
“We’ll head out to sea on a rowboat, then. Tomorrow?”
She nodded her assent.
The sun was low and red in the sky when they reached the camp. A resigned melancholy settled over Riella as the initial shock of Ferrante’s revelation wore off. The melancholy was hardly an improvement, though, because she didn’t wish to spend her remaining time alive feeling miserable, either.
Kohara and the children arranged kindling in the fire pit. The old woman’s smile quickly faded as she registered Riella and Jarin’s stoic expressions. Ruslo and Nuri had evidently decided the siren was unlikely to maul them, because they circled Riella as she walked over.
“We’re making a fire.” Ruslo’s cheek was smudged with ash and his dark hair was askew. “Would you like to help?”
“Yes, I would,” she replied, glad for the distraction. “I’ve never made a fire before.”
Jarin hung back. “Will you be alright if I look in on Drue?”
“Of course. Tell Drue I wish him well.”
Nuri and Ruslo demonstrated how to make fire by striking flint with a blade. Golden sparks flew from the flint into the mound of dried coconut husks, transforming the pile into flames.
Fire lighting was far more difficult than it looked, and she had to try several times to get the spark to jump correctly. But eventually, the fire caught, and yellow flames danced high and bright.
Riella felt Kohara’s thoughtful gaze on her the whole time, but the older woman didn’t try to discuss Ferrante or the cave, for which she was grateful.
As night fell, stars decorated the lilac sky and the crescent moon rose. Riella usually adored staring at the moon. But this evening, she kept her eyes firmly at ground level, knowing the waxing moon was now counting down to her death.
Jarin returned from visiting Drue as the crew came up from the beach.
The men guzzled water before progressing to flagons of mead and bottles of rum. They sat on the stumps around the fire, or sprawled out on the sandy ground. Crickets chirruped behind the tree line and bats swooped silently overhead like ghosts.
“How’s Drue?” she asked Jarin as he brought food to her.
She picked at the fruit, which seemed to have lost all flavor.
“He improves.”
The siren nodded. She gazed into the hypnotic flames, the weight in her chest too heavy for her to bear carrying on a conversation. Jarin sat by in pensive silence.
It was harsh and unusual to know when she was going to die, but not how. Everyone knew they’d die one day, of course. But it was something else entirely to have a countdown, and to be unable to stop it.
After all, who was she to go against fate? Jarin’s father hadn’t been able to stop it. In fact, he’d walked right into it, head held high. Perhaps that was the strongest thing to do.
As she watched the fire, she wondered if she would’ve lived differently, if she had known she’d die so soon. Would she have made different choices?
But, if she had made different choices, she’d not be in this mess to begin with. Galeil and Mareen wisely avoided humans, and they still had their tails and Singing voices to show for it. They were free. And what could be more wonderful than freedom?
“Dance with us,” said Ruslo, offering his hand to Riella.
Snapping out of her trance-like state, she agreed. While Berolt played a fiddle, the children showed her a simple dance, repeating the steps for her until she could do them too. She twirled and spun around the clearing until her mind was blessedly free of thought. On the other side of the fire, Jarin eyed her through the flames, even when talking with his men.
This was a kind of freedom, she thought. Feeling giddy and joyful, dancing with children on the warm sand. She would die, like everyone would, but not yet. Until then, she could savor her remaining life.
She tried to convince herself to be alright with the situation. After all, had she not always been willing to die in battle, during the war? Was this so different?
The music grew louder as the rum flowed, and more pirates joined the dancing. Riella eventually ran out of breath, her hair sticking to her hot face, and she wandered from the fire pit to breathe the cool night air.
The shadows greeted her like an old friend. Away from the music, the jungle was alive with night noises. She let her feet guide her toward the distant crashing of the ocean, alone.
As she climbed the silver dunes, sea grass bowing in the stiff breeze, she felt lost and bereft. The wine-dark sea was no longer her home. If she tried to return to it, the ocean would kill her as if she were human. She dwelled on land now, and yet she didn’t belong here, either.
But even when she’d lived in the sea, she’d never completely fit in with her friends. She’d always felt different. Like there was no place for her.
Perhaps it did not matter anymore that she didn’t belong. Perhaps that was the point the whole time—she wasn’t meant to. Her life was not about belonging.
It was about fulfilling a prophecy, and then dying.
In the middle of the expansive beach, there was no hiding from the moon. It bathed her in pearly light, making her skin glow. The thundering waves were so loud that she didn’t hear Jarin until he was very close.
He stood before her without saying a word, blocking her view of the ferocious sea. He covered her shoulders with his large hands, and she let him. She took a deep breath and looked up into his serious eyes.
When she opened her mouth to speak, she tasted salt. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. How long had she been crying?
It was too late to hide her vulnerability from Jarin. He’d already seen, and nothing bad happened. Perhaps she ought to let the tidal wave rise inside of her and flow outward.
“I don’t want to die,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m scared.”
Jarin wrapped his arms around her and hugged her against his chest. From one ear, she could hear the pounding of the waves. From the other, the strong and steady beat of his heart. She felt warm, and safe, in a way she never had before. She wanted more of that feeling. It was incredibly appealing, especially in the face of death. There was no reason for her to deny her attraction to him anymore. No reason at all.
She tilted her head back to meet his penetrating gaze.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked, her voice husky from crying.
Without a moment’s hesitation, as if he’d been just waiting for her to ask, he cupped her face and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.
The warmth of his mouth felt intimate and comforting, even as it felt foreign. She liked how he tasted, and that kissing him meant they breathed the same air. He parted her lips with a gently probing tongue, his lips sliding against her teeth, and her tears finally stopped.
She returned the kiss—slowly at first, while she got used to the rhythm of the movements. Then, with the urgency of someone whose very days were numbered.